And Now, We Wait

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I’ve never been a fan of waiting. I come by this honestly. Dare I say, it’s genetic. When my older sister was in grade school, she interviewed our father for a class assignment. One question was what he disliked. His answer, which immediately became famous within the family: “Waiting and lumpy gravy.” I’m with him on both.

Last Thursday night, I sent my final (please, God) corrections to the person doing the interior design on my book. With one exception, all the corrections were misplaced hyphenations caused by her software. (Seriously—in what bizarre alternate universe would I ever hyphenate “Ryan”?) It was a fairly lengthy list, but they should all be simple enough. If she sends over the final proof tomorrow morning, I can review it, approve it, and call it done. (I was hoping she might decide to work over the weekend, but no such luck.)

The cover design is done. My cover artist (spouse of the interior designer) said in his Friday email that once I sign off on everything, he can send the final files.

In preparation, I tried to log into Ingram Spark on Friday. They wanted me to update my password. I tried, and tried, and tried again. Finally, I emailed them to ask what the problem is. I’m waiting for a response so I can be ready to do the upload as soon as I have the final book and cover files.

I already know Amazon is taking forever these days. I’ve ordered inventory of the other two books, and each order claims it will take 3-4 weeks. No idea what’s taking so long. I remember when the turnaround was 10 days. I’m presently living in terror about how long it will take to get a proof copy of the new book so I can place an actual order, plus how long fulfillment take, because the launch party is November 5 and I must have books for the party. But I don’t dare place an order for 50 books without reviewing a proof copy, because if they screw something up, I’ll have no recourse. Even at author copy prices, books aren’t inexpensive because even Prime members pay for shipping on author copies.

And did I mention that I have an appellate brief due this Friday and another due in two weeks? It’s just as well, because if all I had to do was to sit around and wait for proofs, files, book proofs, and deliveries, I’d likely go mad.

Some might encourage me to use this time wisely. The book is written. There’s nothing more to do there. So use this time to plan out some marketing (which, let’s face it, should already be in place), try to schedule more events, and do everything that needs to happen before Halloween because there will be no time later, like wash the windows, clean up the gardens, figure out year-end finances, schedule various home maintenance tasks (boiler inspection, leaf cleanup, and whatever I’m forgetting right now)—oh, and plan the launch party.

The launch party is a first for me, but I’m genuinely excited (except when I start panicking about the possibility of not having books). I’ve never done a book launch. My first novel, State v. Claus, came out during the pandemic, and nobody was doing in-person events, so I posted it and went on with my day. My second novel, Becoming Mrs. Claus, came out in 2023. While I could theoretically have had a launch, the final weeks before publication were fraught: my beloved orange cat, Ned, died, and my book designers and I were waiting until the last minute for the cover blurb because author William Kent Krueger, who generously blurbed the book, was on tour for his own recent release. At least it was simply a matter of uploading files and calling it released that time. (Also, that was when Amazon was turning around orders for author copies in days rather than weeks.)

I feel as if I should be putting this gap time to good use, except I don’t know what that good use is. Some authors might be starting a new book at this point, but those are likely authors who aren’t responsible for getting the books uploaded, ordered, and delivered by any particular deadline.

Mind you, I know that from certain perspectives, this is a lovely problem to have. Other people are waiting for far more pressing things, like my nephew who is need of a kidney transplant and is presently undergoing dialysis. If I don’t have books for my launch party, I’ll be mortified and crushed and attendees will be disappointed, but if he doesn’t get a kidney, the consequences are far more dire. Plenty of people are waiting to be paid for work they’ve performed or to receive court-ordered alimony and child support payments so they can meet their various obligations. People are waiting to hear about job opportunities, school admissions, and countless other decisions that could affect the course of their lives.

And so, as I wait for everything I need, I try to keep perspective. Yes, I dearly want to have everything in place for the launch party. Yes, it drives me nuts to have so little control over things like Ingram Spark’s tech glitches or Amazon’s slow production schedule. (No, Amazon does not offer the option of expediting an order. I’ve checked. Apparently, author copies are a low priority because they’re sold at wholesale and Amazon doesn’t make money on them.)

The only option to speed up an Amazon order is to order books as standard retail purchases and use Prime for shipping. (While this is more expensive than author copies, the author does have the option of setting the price wherever they choose.) While this would be a decent workaround after publication, it would require officially publishing the book weeks earlier than I planned. One of the perks of coming to the launch is that people will get the books before they’re available to the public, since the launch is November 5 and publication day is November  10. If I have to release early in order to have books for the launch, this incentive vanishes.

Another possibility is to use other printers, such as Barnes & Noble, who also offer print-on-demand and may be able to turn around an order more quickly. Even so, until I have final files in hand, I can’t do anything.

They say waiting builds character. Being powerless teaches you patience and faith. Having no control helps you to realize what’s truly important.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe all these things are true. Maybe the current circumstances will make me a better, stronger person.

I don’t care. I want my books in time for the launch. I don’t mean to whine (although I know I sound a little bit whiny—or maybe more than a little bit.) It’s not even just so I have the books to show everybody. The real reason—and this is God’s honest truth, not an attempt to make myself sound less whiny—is that I don’t want to disappoint the people who are coming. Those generous folks are coming because it means something to them to support this local author and/or to have my new book a few days before the rest of the world. These people are incredibly kind, and I want to be able to put this book into their hands. I want to give them this tangible evidence that I appreciate their coming out on an evening in November, after autumn darkness has fallen, when they could very reasonably have decided just to go home and watch television and wait a few more days to order the book. Whether the party consists of six people or 30 (and I seriously doubt there will be as many as 30), I will be enormously grateful to them for coming, and I want them to have the tiny benefit of purchasing the book before anybody else on the planet, just because they’re special and I want them to know it.

In the end, it comes down to this: I wrote the book. That’s the part I controlled. From here on out, the vast majority of what happens will depend on other people.

And so, we wait.

The Fine Art of Procrastination

Danny and Rosie, this morning

It’s been an insane month, with even more to come this week. Deadlines, appointments, demands. Everybody wanting something. Inadequate rest, especially on the nights I’m staying over at Mom’s because one of her overnight caregivers is taking a three-week vacation. (Seriously? Who gets three weeks off?) This weekend has literally been the first since June that I haven’t worked at my day job (although I probably should have, because I have two projects due this week that I haven’t begun, in addition to medical appointments, a client appointment, treks to the post office and the bank, Bible study, a friend’s book event, and I think there’s something else I can’t recall right now).

Yesterday was a book event in Old Wethersfield, Connecticut, which in my opinion should be named the Most Bookish Town in Connecticut. These people don’t just browse—they come to buy. I toted the same bins of books to this event that I’d taken to two prior events and hauled home again with barely a book sold. This time, I not only sold out of State v. Claus, but I took orders for four copies (which explains tomorrow’s trek to the post office). The event ended at 3:00 (an excellent ending time in my opinion, since it allows for breaking down my tent and display, loading the car, getting home, and doing it all before it’s time to feed the cats their dinner). But as it turned out, I was so exhausted last evening that instead of swimming, I lounged on the porch with a glass of ice water until I had the energy to move inside and stretch out on the sofa.

No matter, I told myself. Sunday is coming.

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‘Tis the Season . . . Already?

My booth at an event in summer, 2025

As I write these words, it is still late spring according to the meteorological calendar. We’re approximately two-thirds of the way through June. Local temperatures for the next week are expected to range from the low 60s (with a couple of high 50s thrown in) to the mid- to upper 70s. School years are ending. Construction equipment clogs nearly every road. Air conditioning in most public places appears to be set to “frigid.” A peaceful dinner on the porch is generally accompanied by the roar of a lawn mower or the whine of a weed whacker.

Which is why it came as a slight surprise on Wednesday when I received an email from the organizer of one of my favorite holiday market events.

Over the past few years, I’ve developed a routine when it comes to book events. I generally refrain from scheduling in the first few months after the holidays for several reasons. First, I’m exhausted after the crunch of the holiday season. Second, I’m usually recovering from whatever illness I contracted during the holiday season as a result of the crowds. Third, this down time is my prime season to do some actual writing. Fourth, one result of writing seasonally-themed books is that there’s very little demand in the first few months of the new year.

Mind you, I do a few warm weather events. Last weekend was my first of the summer. Unfortunately, the event wasn’t well-marked, and relatively few people found their way into the private room where a dozen or so authors were set up. I have another event tomorrow, and I have reasonable hopes for a good turnout and maybe even some decent sales. (If you’re in or around East Longmeadow, Massachusetts, tomorrow afternoon, come by Brew Practitioners to sip and shop. It’s going to be a lovely day!)

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The Bunny Rabbit and Other Ramblings

Kallie is waiting for her bedtime treats

Last night, I started editing Draft #5 of my new book. It felt like coming home.

* * * * *

This weekend is the Palm Sunday service. I’m thinking seriously about staying home and watching the livestream, because I don’t like how they begin by going outside and marching through the neighborhood, waving palms and singing. I know it’s supposed to be symbolic and powerful, but when I did it a few years ago, I felt conspicuous and self-conscious. If I lived in one of the apartment buildings overlooking the sidewalk in front of the church, I’d wonder why those idiots were traipsing around underneath my window.

* * * * *

Next week, Olivia will turn eighteen. It feels so unreal. I remember her as a kitten who barely fit in my hand. Now, she’s going to be old enough that if she were human, she could vote.

This must be how parents of human children feel when their offspring drive away and it doesn’t make any sense because just this morning they needed help tying their shoes.

* * * * *

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Manageable

Photo credit: Nam Anh on Unsplash

There’s an old joke that goes like this:

“How do you eat an elephant?”

“One bite at a time.”

Last Friday, I went outside to clean the moss off my basement steps. There are four steps leading from the yard down to the square of cement in front of my basement door. I can’t recall the last time I cleaned them off. Quite possibly never, if I’m honest. Since I’ve lived here for 26 years, that’s a whole lot of not-cleaning, but they’re just a few steps in my backyard. I’m not even certain whether they’re stone or cement, although they’re perfectly squared off, leading me to suspect they were poured.

A few weeks ago, as I was walking down the steps, I slipped. Just a little, and I didn’t fall. The thought flashed through my brain that I should clean off the moss that covered the steps, but then I moved onto the next thing and forgot all about them. Then, last week, I slipped again. Again, it was just a little bit of slippage, and I didn’t fall, but it occurred to me that if I actually did fall and sustained injury, I’d be on my own. Only a person standing in a certain part of my backyard would ever see me. My neighbors might hear me if I could manage to be loud enough, but if I were to hit my head and be knocked out—more likely that I’d be a late-night snack for one of the bears that is frequenting our neighborhood.

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The 100 Day Project 2025, Day Who the Hell Knows?

Photo credit: Gerd Altmann on Pixabay

I nearly had a break today. I came thisclose to taking off the most beautiful day in ages, the kind the weather people call a “top ten weather day.” The heat wave broke, the sky was vivid blue with feathery white clouds, the temperatures were mild, and I had no deadlines looming.

Or so I thought.

Turns out, I’d forgotten about one. I only remembered because the client called around noon to ask about the project. And just like that, my day off was shot to hell.

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The 100 Day Project 2025, Day Whatever

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I’ve lost track of the count. While I’ve been making notes and thinking over the past two days, the only writing I’ve done (other than legal work) has been a couple scribbled notes. (I nearly wrote “a few,” but the truth is there are only two, one yesterday and one today. If I’m going to confess, I may as well be honest.)

At first, if I missed a day, I circled it on the calendar. Then, I found I was forgetting to cross off days, and I had to try to remember whether it was because I’d written and not noted it or if I’d simply not written. Either way, it wasn’t terrific. At this point, I could make a decent guess about how many days I’ve missed—ten, maybe. Not brilliant, but at least I’ve plodded along.

The upside is that by pushing myself in the past two months, I’ve made very good progress on the section of the book that really, really needed work—as in, it wasn’t there. All I had was a note that I had to add a climax and a conclusion. Those are pretty big things to need to add.

My problem was that I hadn’t figured out what they were going to be, apart from a vague notion about something at the very end. I’d also forgotten the most important thing about my process, which is that I write to discover the story. When I started following the characters instead of dictating to them, the final ascent to the climax began to unfold. (Yes, I’m mixing the hell out of my metaphors. Enjoy.)

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The 100 Day Project 2025, Day 52(!)

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You probably thought I’d given up.

Oh, no.

Come on, admit it. You figured I threw in the towel, especially since my last blog post had nothing to do with this project.

Well, maybe. I mean, it’s been a while.

I’ll admit, I’ve missed two days (which is why this was Day 52, not Day 54). And some of my writing days have been fairly minimal—half an hour (or less), or just research, or mainly reading and editing. It’s certainly been no #1000wordsofsummer this year.

But that’s actually a good thing.

Sure, right.

No, really, I’m not making excuses. For where this book is now, a daily word goal would have been counterproductive. Word goals are good when you’re putting down the first draft and figuring out the story. That’s not where I am now. At this point, I’m fleshing out a piece of the story that I’d found wildly intimidating. By going slowly and including research, I’m making real progress, not just slap down some words and call it done progress. I’m cutting phrases and lines and paragraphs and whatever else needs to go. I’m editing what was already there to accommodate the new material. I’m seeing how the new stuff is going to impact what came before, such as where I need to drop in references so that what happens in the climactic section isn’t coming out of the blue. (I hate it when I get broadsided by critical information just at the pivotal moment. It’s like reading a murder mystery and being told on page 332 of a 335-page book that the main suspect had a twin brother nobody knew about, and the two planned the murder together, with one of them accepting an award at a black-tie event—perfect alibi—while the other committed the murder.)

The reality is that barring a flat-out miracle—including three months when I don’t have to practice law and yet money magically appears in the bank every month, as well as a brilliant (and affordable) editor who is free to drop everything and spend four weeks helping me turn this mess into a masterpiece—there is simply no way this book will be out for the holidays this year. I hate that so much. At book events last year, I kept telling people that the new book would be out this year. Now, I’m making myself a liar. The only option would be to write and publish a novella-length piece in this series, except that there isn’t time to do that because I’d have to start from scratch and it’s already the middle of June and I have no ideas for something short and self-contained. I can’t even use the first section of the present book, because there’s nothing particularly Christmasy about it, and if I’m going to publish a novella about Santa Claus at the holidays, it needs to be Christmasy. Plus, because I’m me and I require everything to fit together, it would somehow need to advance the series.

Sigh.

You’re probably wishing right now that this was another post about ecclesiastical garments. Mea maxima culpa.

Except . . . you know. . . .

No. Absolutely not. It wouldn’t work.

Well, maybe. . . .

Forget it. I’m sticking with the manuscript in progress.

But what if. . . ?

This is ridiculous. I can’t get distracted. Not now. I cannot go from start to finish on another book–especially not in time for the holidays. It is not possible. It doesn’t matter that there’s this one large, gaping hole in the narrative, and there isn’t room in this book to deal with that issue because it would make the book much longer and it doesn’t fit anywhere with any of the rest of the story anyway, so it would have to be separate anyway except that it wouldn’t be long enough to be a novel by itself, so. . . .

I’m just saying. . . .

Oh, shut up.

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Well. I certainly didn’t see this coming when I started this post. And I don’t know whether it’ll be possible anyway.

But it would address that gaping hole, which is nice because the book I’m currently working on is the final book of the series, so this would take care of that issue before I get to the finale. Not that anybody has ever mentioned the hole. Maybe I’m the only one who sees it. Maybe it’s not really a hole at all.

I hate moving away from the book in progress now, just when I’m finally getting a firm handle on it. After all, do I really have to have a new book this year? Of course not. Nobody’s going to cry if I tell them it’s not happening this year. Most of the people from last year’s events probably won’t remember anyway. It’s not as if they’re sitting around saying, “Oh, I can’t wait for [fill in the event], because P. Jo Anne Burgh said she’s going to have a new book this year!”

And yet, there’s another story to be told. . . .

I need to think about this.

Moral of the story: be careful what you write.

Photo credit: Aaron Burden on Unsplash

The 100 Day Project 2025, Day 27

Danny is very excited that there’s finally a printed draft.

It’s been two weeks since I posted an update.

(You thought I quit, didn’t you?)

I wasn’t going to quit, but I did come perilously close to a . . . hiatus . . . over the past several days. It’s the kind of thing that can happen when the Day Job takes over your days (and nights) for weeks on end, including weekends. I know work will slow as we move into summer because after 28 years, I recognize that this is how things roll, so I know to be grateful for the current hectic pace. Still, I’m exhausted, and there comes a point where too many things demand your attention, and you say, “Fine, whatever. I’ll get back to the book when I get a chance.”

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The 100 Day Project 2025, Day 13

Photo credit: Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Caveat for all the writers who really want to write someday, but who believe can’t write unless they feel inspired: you may not want to read this post.

(If you’re still reading, don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

Working on this book for thirteen days straight has reminded me of a truth I’d forgotten: a proven* way to become inspired to write is to start writing, and then keep writing.

You read that correctly. Instead of waiting for the inspiration before you start writing, take whatever weird little nugget of a thought you have, and start writing about that. If the weird little nugget is, “I forgot to buy mustard,” start writing about a person who goes to the supermarket or the corner bodega or the general store or the gourmet shop or Costco—in other words, anywhere you can go to purchase mustard—and follow them around the store to find out why they forgot the mustard. Did they leave the list at home? If so, why? Were they distracted when they were getting ready to leave the house and they left the list on the kitchen counter? Or are they accustomed to chatting on the phone with their spouse or significant other or parent while shopping and that person tells them what to get, only this time, that person is unavailable for a specific reason—out of town, had a fight, died, just separated, is working and can’t be disturbed, is trying to get the baby to sleep, is running a marathon—so the shopper is on their own. Or maybe there’s some hostility attached to the mustard, such as how they only need it because Rachel is bringing her new boyfriend Kyle when the group goes on a beach picnic and the shopper is in charge of the sandwiches, and nobody likes Kyle because he’s so judgy, and he claims he can only eat this certain brand of mustard, so the shopper subconsciously doesn’t want to buy it, especially since with any luck, Rachel will dump him before the next picnic and nobody else likes that brand.

All those possibilities out of something as mundane as “I forgot to buy mustard.”

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